


All the Lives We Leave Behind

by the_genderman



Category: Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (It's Hux), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Armitage Hux Smokes, Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Autistic Clyde Logan, Bittersweet Ending, Bottom Clyde Logan, Canon Typical Armitage Hux's Life, Clyde Logan Needs a Hug, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Kylux Adjacents, Logan Family Curse (Logan Lucky), M/M, POV Alternating, Spoilers in end notes, Top Armitage Hux, Unreliable Narrator, autistic author, but he can fake it, falling in love at the wrong time, twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Every person has a life they’ve lived and any number of lives they haven’t and those that, by choices made, they won’t. Sometimes they make those decisions themselves, sometimes they have them made for them by others, and sometimes they simply stumble into them.Or,An Englishman walks into a small town West Virginia bar.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Clyde Logan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	1. Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> This fic asks one very big question, first and foremost: can I fuse two rather dissimilar movies’ canons into a feasible AU? But also, how many people want to read this ship? Putting it out there because I can and I want to.
> 
> Ok, so obviously Clyde’s research focus would be on things that fit into the Logan Family Curse, but I also see him as having absorbed enough adjacent local information during his research that he’s like “Yeah, I might be able to help.” 
> 
> Also, just in case you’re curious about the end notes, caveat emptor, beware of spoilers, all that good stuff. Not all the end notes are super spoilery, but… some very much are.
> 
> These notes will change as more chapters are added, and if you catch this fic right as it gets uploaded, there will probably be edits for the next few minutes as I get everything figured out and settled in. The highest numbered chapter (until it is finished posting) will serve as a blank "buffer" page between the current chapter and the spoilers in the End Notes.

He was a bit too young to be calling it a mid-life crisis, but it certainly wasn’t a happy-go-lucky vacation road trip that Armitage Hux found himself on. Nothing in his life could be called happy-go-lucky; perhaps not even happy or lucky, either. Everything he had he had worked hard for, and this autumn road trip was really going to test his work ethic. He had initially gotten on the road wanting to just drive and forget about his ex, but as he traveled south, he started wondering—as long as he was headed that general direction, perhaps, could he use this trip for a more useful purpose than simply wandering aimlessly? Could he recall enough of the things he had learned over the years and use them to help him find his birth mother? That certainly would be a difficult enough project to keep his mind off of his ex. Times had been rough between them for a while and they’d drifted too far apart to reconcile, but he’d been such a big part of his life for so long, that he’d be hard to forget. Armitage needed something _big_ to distract him.

Armitage had known from a very early age that he had been adopted—when his father got drunk, it was one of his favorite things to hurl in young Armitage’s face. That his birth mother had had him out of wedlock, didn’t even know who the father had been, hadn’t wanted him, and Brendol and Maratelle had taken him in out of the goodness of their hearts. Armitage found it hard to believe that last bit, but the rest of it seemed likely enough. And so it had been, until Brendol had admitted the truth in an appropriately dramatic dying confession. Armitage had been a few months past his thirtieth birthday when he learned the actual truth: his mother had been a brand new college freshman who had been charmed or coerced—the latter more likely—into a relationship with his father. He wanted to know what else he hadn’t been told about his mother. Brendol didn’t remember much about her, but he did know he had met her while he was a visiting professor at West Virginia University. She’d talked, he hadn’t tried to listen since that wasn’t what he was there for, but he had retained a few things she’d mentioned. She’d been born in the state, but wasn’t local to the university. A first generation student on a scholarship from some county practically in Kentucky, started with a B, he thought it might. Her name was something incredibly common and he had forgotten it quickly. 

She’d wanted to keep the baby, but was afraid of what her family would think, she had told him as much. He had used that to convince her that it would be in the child’s best interest if he and his wife raised it, gave it the best opportunities possible. Of course, if she stayed on at the university, he’d keep her in the loop, let her see her son as he grew up. She had agreed. Instead, he had scooped up the infant Armitage up and sent Maratelle back to England with him almost immediately after he was born. Brendol had to finish out the semester, but his wife and child had no such hold. The last he knew of Armitage’s mother, she had dropped out and gone home, unable or unwilling to stay on and be reminded every day of the man who had given her a child and immediately taken him away from her.

Armitage hadn’t given it much consideration at the time—what was he supposed to do with that information?—but he had dutifully tucked it away in case he ever needed it in the future.

After his father’s death, Armitage had transferred from the London office to working full-time at the New York office of the company his father had gone into after he had been ‘convinced’ to leave teaching. He was loyal to the company, but, understandably, needed a change of scenery and they liked him well enough in New York. Some of the employees better than others—a month after arriving, he made his on-again-off-again long-distance inter-office flirtation into something more settled, even if it couldn’t quite be called stable. Things were looking up for him. While a tragedy, certainly, the sudden death of his father seemed to have freed Armitage from the weight of family expectations.

Five years, a long-term relationship that had very recently imploded, and a couple other hiccups in his personal life later, Armitage found himself on a rather impromptu vacation that was more of a soul-searching road trip. It had led him to Boone County, West Virginia where he was determined to see if he could find his birth mother or, at the very least, any more information about her. Assuming his father’s recollection had been correct and he was even in the right county.

And thus, Armitage found himself sitting on the edge of the bed in a randomly selected cheap roadside motel room, wondering, what he had been thinking? He didn’t know anyone down here, didn’t know where to start looking beyond “maybe the local library might be able to help?”, and hadn’t exactly made anything resembling a proper plan. He gave a sarcastic little laugh at himself, how unlike his usual attention to detail. He supposed he could always call it a wash, keep driving, but no. Even if he didn’t find her, he could still stand to use his vacation time for actual vacation. Find a nice little cabin in the mountains and relax for at least a week, watch the leaves change. Turn his cell phone off, leave his laptop in the trunk of his car, don’t think about work or his ex or his other problems; just get off the grid for a bit and rest, enjoy the kind of seclusion he’d never had in London or New York. However, before he could think about _any_ of those potential near futures, he probably ought to think about dinner. What kind of restaurants he had driven past to get here?

\---------------

On the surface, not a whole lot of things bothered Clyde Logan. Except, of course, the Logan Family Curse, as everyone knew, and even then it looked more like a gentle annoyance than anything much more substantial. Well, he’d learned a long time ago that people didn’t like it when he got bothered, so he’d learned how to mask it outside of his immediate family—they understood him. He thought he did a pretty good job of it. Which, he supposed, was exactly the problem. Barely anyone outside of his family recognized it when it was happening and even if they did, who would he talk to about it? He was the bartender, the one people came to spill their secrets and troubles to, not the other way around. He couldn’t rightly lay his troubles on his patrons no matter how much they might chat. And outside his job, he was “ _The Weird Logan_ ” (even if he pretended like he didn’t hear people saying it), which meant he wasn’t _close_ with a lot of people outside his family. People were friendly, of course, that’s how they did around these parts, but he didn’t have a lot of options to unload his troubles when something was bothering him.

So Clyde pretended like the bachelorette party on the other side of the Duck Tape Bar and Grill wasn’t stirring up some kind of bother in him tonight. It wasn’t that he didn’t like seeing people happy, nor was he one of those men who made “ball-and-chain” jokes about getting married, no. The problem was that it was just one of a string of recent events that kept reminding him that he was single and probably destined to be single forever. Locally speaking, his eligible dating pool was pretty slim. Oh, most of the people he knew weren’t too bothered that he was gay, and there were other guys like him out there, even in their little community—he’d put Grindr on his phone three months back, panicked and deleted it after he got four dick pics from three different men in the first two days, then re-downloaded it a week later—but, once again, he was always going to be The Weird Logan. So far, all it had gotten him was swapping dick pics, some dirty talk, and a few one night stands, which, he might not be proud to admit it, he had taken them up on the offers. It was nice to feel _wanted_ like that, even just for one night at a time. But, he supposed it _had_ only been three months. If he kept trying, maybe he’d get an actual date sooner or later.

At least he had his tiny gaggle of Tuesday night regulars to talk to, to try to keep his mind from spiraling off and thinking about loneliness this evening. With the nice little nest egg of cash he was sitting on, Clyde didn’t really need the tips so much anymore, but he liked talking with his regulars. But, being a Tuesday, other than his regulars and the bachelorette party over on the grill side of the bar and grill who would occasionally come over to order another round of drinks but not sit at the bar, there weren’t a whole lot of patrons on his side of the Duck Tape this evening. So he definitely noticed when an unfamiliar redhead sidled up next to the cigarette machine looking like he was debating feeding a vice. He didn’t look like a local, one of them big city types who passed through sometimes, but they didn’t tend to smoke. 

He kept a curious eye on him. The man was handsome, and the way he carried himself got Clyde wondering. It might just be his imagination, seeing what he wanted to see. And anyway. He looked disarmingly skinny, almost delicate, but with a sharpness to him. Like a mud dauber wasp. Well, hopefully, like a mud dauber, he wouldn’t sting unless bothered into it. Clyde kept up with his regulars and waited to see if the man would sit down. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up—probably ought to keep his guard up—about this wasp of a man, but he could certainly look.

\---------------

Armitage wasn’t the type to hesitate or let himself get caught off guard, and yet. He stood by the cigarette machine, feeling the change in his pocket calling to him and sneaking the occasional covert glance over at the bartender who bore a striking resemblance to his ex. He didn’t have a _type_ , did he? That would be unfortunate. He didn’t like having weaknesses. Fortunately, he was well schooled in hiding his true emotions. Most of the time. He’d had his dinner, basic Americana fare, burger and fries, and was now considering an after dinner cocktail at the bar. Just enough to relax him a bit, but not so much he wouldn’t be able to drive—or keep his tongue in check. He made his purchase from the cigarette machine, carefully wiped his face blank, put on the mask of a tired but not unfriendly traveler, and slid onto a barstool.

The bartender strolled over with practiced ease. He greeted Armitage pleasantly enough, even if his face was oddly neutral. Not smiling, but not actively frowning either. Armitage studied him without looking like he was doing so; trying to remain detached and clinical and _not_ think about how much he looked like his ex but with a goatee and slightly longer hair. He considered ordering something non-alcoholic so he wouldn’t risk voicing his improper thoughts, but decided against it. He knew he stood out already, no need to make himself look even more of An Outsider.

“Evenin’,” the bartender said with a slight nod, his tone warm even without an accompanying smile. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“I’ll have a dry Manhattan, but with the cherry, please,” Armitage said, rapidly swinging back to ‘ _I need alcohol to handle this _,’ and cracking open the pack of cigarettes he’d just bought. He was trying to break the habit, but he wanted that little bit of familiarity and comfort to ground himself before he started lusting over a man he’d just met and didn’t even know his name. He glanced around, looking for an ashtray. He’d passed a couple smokers on the front porch, and there _was_ that cigarette machine, but he wasn’t sure about the local ordinance for smoking _inside_ a bar. “Am I allowed to smoke in here?”__

__The bartender paused, looking like he was considering his words. Armitage knew from his accent that he stood out, and he wondered if the man was choosing his words carefully on account of his status as An Outsider. He knew some rural communities could be quite insular._ _

__“The law says that you’re allowed to,” the bartender answered in his pleasant, slow drawl as he started making Armitage’s drink, “but I’d prefer it if you went outside to smoke. I hope you understand.”_ _

__“Oh, of course,” Armitage said, closing the pack up and slipping it back into his pocket with a polite smile. “I can imagine it wouldn’t be very pleasant going home smelling of everyone else’s cigarettes. Nasty habit, but not an easy one to escape. I’ve tried to quit three times, but it hasn’t taken yet. Ah, thank you.” He accepted his drink with a smile._ _

__The bartender gave him another little nod and went back to check in with his other patrons. Armitage tried not to stare as he plucked the cherry out of his drink and sucked on it. Well. It seemed he _did_ have a type. He felt conflicted, a little uneasy. He was trying to get over his ex and relax. Armitage finished his drink slowly, politely flagged the bartender over to order a second, and then sat back to watch. He liked watching him move around as he attended to his other patrons, the way he’d casually brush a loose strand of hair back from his face and tuck it behind his ear, the control he had over the prosthetic hand he wore. He tried very hard to watch without _looking_ like he was staring._ _

__“You doin’ ok there?” the bartender’s voice pulled Armitage back out of his head. Armitage looked down, noticing that he had finished his drink but was still holding onto the glass. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting like that._ _

__“Oh, sorry, yes, I’m ok,” Armitage replied, letting the bartender take his empty glass._ _

__“Now, I know it ain’t my place to pry, and I know you only had two drinks here, but will you be ok to drive?” the bartender asked, holding eye contact with Armitage for a little longer than was entirely comfortable. Armitage blinked a couple times and the bartender looked down at the empty glass, flushing slightly and stumbling just a little over his words. “I mean, I’m not trying to kick you out, but you looked a little... I can call you a cab when you’re ready. Unless you’ve got that Uber app. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not from around here, are you? What brings you down this way?”_ _

__“No, I am not from around here, what gave it away?” Armitage replied with a smile and a chuckle, flirting with his eyes. The alcohol had done its job loosening him up a little. Somehow, he didn’t mind when this man asked him what brought him to town. When the waitress had asked, it felt like she was prying just a little, curious about the outsider. And maybe the bartender was prying too, but, well, Armitage had two Manhattans in him now and perhaps a tiny little crush. “I’ll be ok to drive—I’m just a little distracted, a little tired. I’ve been behind the wheel since roughly seven this morning.”_ _

____

\-----

Clyde gave a low whistle. He didn’t think this guy looked like a long-haul truck driver or anyone else who drove a lot like that, but he supposed there wasn’t one specific ‘look’ for people who liked to drive. He didn’t know this guy at all, but his clothes looked too expensive for that kind of lifestyle. Unless he was some kind of salesman or missionary. But if he were a missionary, would he be drinking? _Stop postulating, just let him be_ , he told himself and pulled himself back to the job at hand. Maybe he shouldn’t interfere, but he liked the way the man had smiled at him. Probably just lonely and reading too much into it, but he kinda wanted to keep him talking a little bit longer. “And you’re gettin’ back on the road? You just passin’ through or stayin’ a bit?”

The redhead hummed, like he hadn’t made his decision yet. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying, but I’ll be in town at least through tomorrow. There’s someone I’m hoping to find. It’s a bit of a longshot, I don’t know if she’s still living here, but I ought to try to look her up if she is.”

“Unless someone’s stolen the last one, there should be a phone book back at the payphones by the restrooms,” Clyde said, feeling a little twinge of regret at the ‘she’: ex-girlfriend? The one who got away? “Or if you’re lookin’ to find her on the internet, Janet at the library knows how to find all sorts of things. And they have free Wi-Fi. Would you like the address, or did you already have a plan in mind?”

“Thank you, I would appreciate that,” the man said, another little smile flickering across his face. “The library sounds like a good place to start tomorrow.”

“Well, if you do go,” Clyde said, fishing a pen out from under the bar and jotting down an address on a napkin, “tell Janet that Clyde says hi, and I’m sorry I haven’t been up to see her in a while. Been busy. Still workin’ on that last book she recommended me.”

With that, he turned back to his other patrons. He shouldn’t monopolize this man’s time, nor should he ignore his regulars for him, no matter how handsome and polite he was. _Like I’d have a chance_ , he scoffed to himself.

\-----

Armitage had dismissed the waitress’s words out of hand. _You should ask Clyde, he knows about_ all _the local scandals_ , she had said when he’d finally given in and admitted he was looking for a woman who had known his father, a long time ago, properly deducing that it was, in fact, probably a proper local scandal. Which meant either it had been hushed up so well no one would know, or else it was one of those open secrets everyone pretended not to know. And she had said it offhand like _everyone_ knew who Clyde was. And maybe everyone local did, but he wasn’t local. He didn’t know if Clyde was the local historian, or just someone old enough to have picked up all the good dirt in the community over the years. He supposed she could be forgiven, being busy with the raucous bachelorette party and not stopping to think that this outsider might not know who she was talking about. He hadn’t considered that Clyde might be the handsome bartender.

Tempting. Very tempting. But, no. Armitage gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. He didn’t want to bother Clyde with his wild goose chase. If he did, he knew he’d just fall deeper into that desire spiral. He’d head up to the library and talk to Janet, just as he had suggested. He could always come back here for dinner tomorrow if he wanted to see him again.


	2. Wednesday

Wednesday was a slightly higher traffic evening at the Duck Tape, but Clyde still noticed almost immediately when last night’s red-haired stranger walked through the doors for the second night in a row and sat down at the bar. He hadn’t expected to see him again. He turned to get a better look and missed the little nod and knowing smile that passed between Larry and Shirley as he excused himself politely from their conversation to go greet him and take his drink order.

“Well hello again,” Clyde said, sidling over. “Dry Manhattan with a cherry, same as last time?”

“Yes, please,” the redhead said with that same smile that had left Clyde wondering the night before. “Just one, to whet my appetite. Oh, and Janet says hello back and to take as much time as you need to finish, she’ll be there when you’re ready for the next book in the series.”

Clyde took a deep breath and steadied himself. If he was going to put himself out there, he might as well start trying. He smiled back at the man. “I don’t think I caught your name when you were in here before.”

The man glanced away for a second, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face. “It’s Armitage. My father was kind of pretentious.”

Clyde shrugged. “It ain’t a bad name, not like you might think. I know a guy chooses to call himself Fish.”

“To each his own,” Armitage replied, lifting his glass and one eyebrow. “But, I digress. When I was at the library, Janet helped me find some materials, old yearbooks, newspapers, but I’m not entirely sure where to start looking to narrow my search down. And I don’t want to put you out or monopolize your time, but she had mentioned that the kind of research I was doing felt like it would be right up your alley. That was the second time in two days that your name came up in relation to my little project. What kind of research is it that you do?”

Clyde took a half step back and narrowed his eyes, studying Armitage. It wasn’t every day a good-looking stranger walked into the bar and expressed interest in his ‘research.’ In fact, most of the time, if he tried to talk about the things he’d uncovered, whoever he was talking to tried to steer him off onto different topics. Something about not being interested in the Logan Family Curse. It wasn’t _their_ family curse, after all. Most people didn’t have a family curse. Armitage probably wouldn’t be interested in a lot of the Logan Family Curse, but he _was_ asking, so it was only polite to answer him. He clasped his hands behind his back, feeling the hard metal and plastic under his palm, steadying himself. He looked down at the bar top when he answered.

\-----

“Well, it’s, uh, nothin’ big. Just things that have been happenin’ to my family, for a long time now. I don’t really see how that could help you, but if Janet says I can help, then I suppose I ought to try,” Clyde said, sounding suddenly shy.

“And your family has lived here for a long time? You must have quite a lot of local knowledge, then. I can certainly understand why Janet would recommend your expertise,” Armitage said, sweet-talking him, gently nudging him to go on. Oh, _hell_. He might as well let this happen organically, see where this flirtation went. Because that’s what it was. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Clyde might be blushing?—his ears had gone red. Armitage was slipping into a gentle flirtation with him despite not really meaning to, despite knowing how bad of an idea it could be in this region of the country. He kind of wanted to congratulate himself, though, that he hadn’t lost a step when it came to reading people. He was almost certain Clyde was interested back.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you, but if you might have time tomorrow, I’d love to tell you what I know, and you could tell me if any of it sounds familiar to you,” Armitage continued, putting on his winningest smile. He could multitask. And even if nothing he had been _looking_ for came from this little trip, he could certainly find other things to satisfy his curiosity.

Clyde looked like he was considering, eyes flicking up to look at Armitage before focusing once again on a knot in the wood grain of the bar.

“Meet at the library when it opens, maybe?” Armitage added, offering a neutral location, in case Clyde would feel uncomfortable coming to his motel room, or inviting him over to his place.

“I could do that,” Clyde agreed with a nod. He looked over to where a couple new patrons had sat down at the bar, then back to Armitage. “I’m going to go take care of them, ok?”

“Of course,” Armitage agreed. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you, but I shouldn’t keep you from your job. See you at the library tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you there.”


	3. Thursday

It was two minutes before opening, according to his car’s dash clock, when Armitage pulled into the library parking lot. He parked and glanced around the lot, wondering if Clyde would be there yet and, if so, would he be able to pick him out among the handful of vehicles of varying ages and conditions already there and waiting for the doors to open. He wondered if he’d have time for a cigarette to help quash his nerves. He shouldn’t _be_ nervous; this wasn’t a date, just… well, he wasn’t quite sure what it counted as. But it definitely wasn’t a date. People generally didn’t do research projects on dates, right?

Grabbing his laptop bag and getting out of his car, Armitage noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. A figure had risen from the bench by the front doors, and… yes, he was pretty sure it was Clyde. He gave a little wave, and Clyde waved back, a little lift of his hand and a nod. He hurried over.

“Hey,” Clyde said. A simple greeting, no smile, but Armitage got the feeling Clyde didn’t really smile much—he showed his feelings in other ways. Clyde looked at Armitage (or, more correctly, somewhere just over his shoulder), and waited for him to make the next move. He seemed maybe a little surprised that Armitage actually showed up.

“Hey to you too,” Armitage replied, nerves still attempting to make themselves heard. Keep it casual but friendly. He slid into a spot next to Clyde where he wouldn’t be blocking the sidewalk; not overly familiar, but not too coolly distant, either.

“I got here a little early,” Clyde said, looking over to the library doors. “Didn’t want to be late meetin’ you. Wouldn’t want to make a bad impression. But they should be open soon. Where were you thinkin’ you wanted to start?”

“If you don’t mind, I was hoping to give you a little background, maybe see if something sounds familiar,” Armitage explained. “If so, we can go from there. If not, then if I can give you a timeframe and hope something stands out from your own research. I know it’s a longshot, but I have to try.”

“So you said,” Clyde replied, speaking to Armitage even as he watched Janet give him a little wave as she unlocked the doors. He waved back to her and turned again to look at Armitage. “How long of a longshot are you talkin’? Who’s the ‘she’ you’re lookin’ to find?”

“My birth mother,” Armitage said, releasing a breath of tension he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“So, when I said that you weren’t from around here…” Clyde said, trailing off. He held the door open for Armitage, watching him as he went.

“It’s complicated,” Armitage said with a little laugh and a glance back over his shoulder. “I certainly wasn’t raised here, but I may have roots. That’s what I’m hoping to learn.”

“What’s your story? How much do you know about her?” Clyde continued, letting Armitage lead him over to a small table by an outlet. Armitage took a seat and suppressed a little smile at the shy but eager little glances at him that Clyde was trying and failing to hide as he slid into the seat across from him.

“Not very much,” Armitage said sheepishly as he set up his laptop, peering at Clyde from over the top of the screen. “My father was very tight-lipped about it but I have reason to believe my birth mother was from around here. He was a visiting professor at West Virginia University, and she was one of his students.” 

Clyde sat back, straightening his shoulders and staring at Armitage. His expression had soured a little.

Armitage’s eyes widened and he looked down abruptly, breaking the eye contact as he realized that Clyde must be assuming the worst about the nature of his birth. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t want to put him off helping. Part of him really did want to find out who his mother was, find out if she even lived here, _and_ part of him wanted to spend this time with Clyde. It might not hurt to massage the truth just a little.

“Oh, no, no. Not like that,” Armitage said apologetically. “I was adopted. My adoptive father and mother, they couldn’t have children of their own, so my father made a deal with my birth mother. She was the first from her family to go to university. She got pregnant in her first semester and didn’t feel like she could go home to her family and explain away a baby. I’m not sure how legal or above board it actually was, but the adoption happened. Before he died, my father told me what he could remember about her. It wasn’t much, but he was fairly sure she was from Boone County. They didn’t keep in contact after the adoption; she dropped out of university after I was born, and my parents went back to England after the school year was over.”

“If I help you find her,” Clyde began slowly, cautiously, “what were you hopin’ to accomplish? What happens if she’s moved on? What if she decided it was easier to forget after your parents took you away? What if she didn’t tell anyone else? I know rumor travels quickly, but that sounds like something she’d’ve wanted to keep real quiet. And what would you showin’ up now do?”

Armitage blinked. Clyde was right. With the recent upheavals in his life, he had latched onto one thing he thought he could control, without giving it the proper thought. “I suppose… I suppose I hadn’t thought that all the way through,” he admitted. “If I agree to not do anything rash, not try to go talk to her, at least until I know more, would you still help me? I think I could probably satisfy my curiosity if I just found out who she is, and if she’s happy now. I guess I let my curiosity run away with me.”

\-----

“Oh, I understand that,” Clyde said with a chuckle and a brief flash of a smile. “You promise not to go harin’ off as soon as you learn anything, I can do my best to help you.”

“I promise,” Armitage said, flashing that same warm smile that made Clyde want to melt just a little. “So. If you were conducting this research, where would you start?”

“You’d mentioned high school yearbooks,” Clyde replied. “Now I can’t guarantee anything’ll jump out to me, but if we can pick the right year, maybe between the two of us, we can find something. When were you born?”

A few more questions, a few more answers (and not all of them strictly about the topic at hand), and Clyde felt himself slipping into a good groove with Armitage. It was early still, but they seemed to work pretty well together. It had been a bit of a bumpy start, maybe, but they were finding their way. He allowed himself to relax and watch Armitage as he excused himself to go to the reference desk to ask for the yearbook they thought might be the right one. And he was nice to watch. The library was a lot better lit than the Duck Tape, so he got a lot better view of the man. He was exactly as skinny and exactly as sharp as he’d gotten the impression that first evening, but it suited him. He did look delicate, but also like he’d be a difficult man to crack. He knew what looked good on him, and dressed the part. And maybe Clyde was mistaken, but he almost felt like Armitage had deliberately dressed up a little fancier today. But maybe he always dressed like this when he wasn’t going out to a bar. He didn’t have a lot of experience to go on when it came to men like him.

Returning to their table, instead of taking the seat he had originally chosen, Armitage pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. He opened the yearbook to the first page of senior photos and gave Clyde a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. Did he change seats to make it easier for them both to look at the yearbook together, or did he _know_? If he kept getting this feeling, maybe, when they finished up with the research today, he’d ask him. That was another thing. Working evenings made it a bit difficult to go on any kind of proper dates, but Armitage was on vacation. It wouldn’t be a proper date since he probably wasn’t going to stick around much longer than it took to try to find his birth mother, but he also wouldn’t have to deal with work hours. Maybe, Clyde thought, if he could work up the nerve to ask him, they could do something tomorrow or Saturday morning. He’d just have to make it through today.

\-----------

They’d been working for a good while, chatting comfortably, like they’d known each other for ages instead of being mostly strangers. Talking a little about Armitage’s life, a little about his life, and a little more about the research at hand. Clyde watched out of the corner of his eye as Armitage rolled his shoulders and stretched a little in his chair, his perfectly fitted shirt emphasizing the lines of his body. Looking, but trying not to be too obvious that he was doing it _and_ liking what he was seeing. Just because people knew he was gay didn’t mean they all wanted to be confronted with it in the library. Even those who didn’t mind probably didn’t want to think too hard about what it might entail; _he_ didn’t like to think too much about what most other people did in the privacy of their own bedrooms.

Clyde sucked in a breath as Armitage’s foot brushed against his ankle. Was it just an accident, or had he done it on purpose? He looked up at the clock first, trying to make it look like he hadn’t been startled by the move—if it _was_ a deliberate move. 

“Is it almost three already?” Clyde said, a little more out loud than he had planned. The time really had gotten away from him. He wouldn’t be late to work, but he certainly had spent a bit more time at this than he had thought he might.

“Hm?” Armitage said, sitting up straight. He glanced over at Clyde and then at his watch. “Oh, wow, time flies. Have I kept you too long? I’m so sorry. I guess I got caught up in the moment, this time with you.”

“No, you’re fine,” Clyde said, shaking his head a little and watching Armitage’s hands as he closed first the yearbook, and then his laptop. “I should probably head back, start gettin’ ready for work. It’s Thursday Night Football, so we’ll have a crowd.”

“Ah,” Armitage said, giving a little nod that looked like it was more to himself than anyone else. He turned back to Clyde. “So, if I wanted to see you again, would tonight not be a good night to do it?”

“Well,” Clyde said, meeting Armitage’s eyes and then looking down again, finding his words a bit more reluctant than usual to come, his speech a bit choppy. “I’ll probably be pretty busy. Might not be able to stop and chat for very long. But I certainly won’t stop you, y’know, if you wanted. To come by.”

“Very tempting,” Armitage said with a dangerous grin, “but if I came in for a third night in a row and monopolized your time, people might start to talk. When do you clock out?”

“Not ‘til after midnight,” Clyde said, standing up, slowly getting ready to go. “I wouldn’t want to keep you up too late waitin’ for me.”

“Tomorrow, then? I _would_ like to see you again,” Armitage said, bold as brass right in the middle of the library, like he hadn’t just said ‘ _people might start to talk_.’ “Can I give you my number? You can call or text me when you’re ready. I want to see you again, but I don’t want to push. Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Sure,” Clyde replied, digging his phone out and wondering if he didn’t sound less excited than he felt. He knew he didn’t show his feelings the same as other people—would Armitage be able to tell his stomach had done a little flip at ‘ _I want to see you again_ ,’ know that his heart was running like a rabbit at the thought of what he meant by it? Unlocking it and pulling up the address book, Clyde opened the form for a new number. He felt himself starting to blush as Armitage’s fingers brushed his as he handed his phone over for him to put his number in. 

Armitage raised one eyebrow and grinned up at him. “So, I take it I’ll be hearing from you tomorrow?”

Presumptuous. The absolute nerve of him. 

“Yeah, I think you will,” Clyde replied, flashing a quick grin back at him.

\---------------

Armitage lay in bed staring at the ceiling, smoking and thinking about what he was doing. With his life in general, and with the immediacy of the here and now. He wanted this flirtation with Clyde, whatever it was turning into, but it couldn’t last. He couldn’t stay, he knew that. A few more days, to keep researching—he and Clyde had found a thread that might pan out, though it was far from certain—but not long enough for any kind of proper _relationship_. There were a lot of things he wasn’t telling Clyde—they _had_ just met, after all—but he felt like he ought to be straightforward with him about what he was looking for between the two of them before they got too much further. He had said, on that first evening, that he wasn’t sure how long he was going to be staying—and it _was_ true—but that was before it had progressed this far. That was when he’d been content to simply look and fantasize, no names required. He wasn’t sure what kind of image he was presenting right now, hoped he hadn’t made Clyde think he was going to stick around permanently. He liked him, sure, but this thing of theirs couldn’t last.

He took a last, long drag on his cigarette and squashed the butt into the ash tray this motel still provided if a smoking room was requested. He didn’t want to get Clyde’s hopes up. Armitage knew he had two very different versions of himself: the one he was inside, and the one he showed to the rest of the world. And it had become so _useful_ to simply wear the outer version all the time. It made things so much easier. Mostly for everyone else, but when he wore that identity, he didn’t have to worry about the looks and the frowns and the whispers he’d used to get when he was younger. How closed off he was, how much of a cliché he was, a tired stereotype—the frigid, effeminate, bitchy twink who babbled when he got flustered, who had a cat and no friends except for one scary butch lesbian. Drop him into a Disney movie, and he’d be a perfectly villainous fit, ready to menace some plucky orphan girl and her found family. He might still hear whispers now of how his smiles felt a little faked and his laughs just a little hollow, but he could live with that. Life had never been particularly kind to him, so when would he have had a chance to develop any kind of real warmth?

So he had learned early on to fake it. Along with his learning to hide himself, Armitage had also learned to read people. He got the impression that Clyde was a lot more honest and open than he was, saying more with less, where Armitage used his words to obfuscate and deflect. Clyde deserved to have a sit down where the two of them discussed what they wanted from their limited time together. He was afraid Clyde wouldn’t like the real version of him—God knew, _he_ didn’t. He only hoped Clyde would be amenable to a short-term relationship. Armitage might be cold, but he could get lonely, same as any other human being.

Well, if anything was going to happen, it would have to be Clyde who made that contact. Armitage felt confident that he would call. He’d just have to be ready when the call came. He glanced at the clock and, deciding it was probably late enough to call it a night, rolled out of bed to go brush his teeth and get ready for bed.


	4. Friday

The morning hadn’t exactly gone as Armitage had expected, but he was rather enjoying it so far. Clyde had called him and asked if he wanted to go for a walk, somewhere they wouldn’t have to worry about maybe getting stared at—all the while letting him know that, if he didn’t feel comfortable being alone with him when they’d only just met, he could always say no and they could do something else. Armitage got the feeling that Clyde might be a bit self-conscious about his size and resting bitch face. He wondered how much past experience with dates or potential dates had led to his need to explain himself and offer an out.

Armitage had assured Clyde that wherever he wanted to go, he was sure it would be fine. And it had been. It had been a lovely walk through what turned out to be Clyde’s brother’s property—he was not on the property at the time, but Clyde said that he’d be fine with them just taking a walk around it. It was a real nice time of year for walking. Not too chilly yet, but the trees turning colors like they’d been painted.

Armitage had very much enjoyed both the autumn colors _and_ the time alone with Clyde. He thought Clyde seemed more relaxed, just the two of them, where he didn’t have to worry about what if someone disapproved of public displays of affection, no matter how tame they might be. They didn’t end up saying a whole lot, simply enjoying the quiet of the walk and the closeness. It had been nice. On their way back into town, he tried not to have impure thoughts involving the back seat of Clyde’s car. He might be thin, but he was not a short man, and it had been a while since he’d been in a vehicle with a back seat large enough where he could lay down without too much difficulty. He wondered how long Clyde had had the car, and whether he’d had the same thoughts.

“So, uh,” Clyde began, glancing very briefly over at Armitage before turning back to focus on the road. Armitage noticed that his cheeks and ears were a little redder than could be explained away simply by the weather. “I apologize if I’m bein’ forward, but your place or mine? Although we don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t presume to pressure you.”

“If you’re asking if I’d like to sleep with you,” Armitage replied, reaching over to rest his hand lightly on Clyde’s arm, “my answer is yes, I do. And if it’s not too much trouble, could we go to your place? I don’t have anything we’d need at the motel.”

“I can absolutely do that,” Clyde said. He didn’t quite meet Armitage’s eyes, but he smiled as he said it.

\-----

It was times like this when Clyde was thankful that he’d decided to put some of his nest egg towards getting a little place of his own, a month and a half back. Sure, sometimes he missed living with family, but he never had felt real comfortable inviting anyone else over to a shared space. Jimmy and Mellie had both been real supportive of him when he’d first come out a few years back, and Mellie’d ask occasionally if he was seeing anyone, how family did, but he still didn’t feel like either of them ought to be reminded about the more private details of his life. He looked back over at his shoulder at Armitage, standing on the sidewalk, as he unlocked the door.

“Well, it ain’t fancy, but come on in. Sorry about the mess, I’m still getting some things unpacked,” Clyde said, stepping inside. 

Clyde closed the door after Armitage and knelt down to take off his shoes, just watching and waiting as his guest looked around politely. His heart was a rabbit again, running around his chest, trying to kick its way out through his ribs. Maybe someday he’d lose the nerves, not feel so much like a teenager on his first date, but right now he still felt like he was sixteen again. Except that this time he wasn’t making out with Margot after the school dance and wondering why it didn’t feel quite right, wasn’t this what he was supposed to like? It had taken some time, but he’d found himself, found what he liked, and finally accepted himself for who he was—exactly who he was supposed to be.

Armitage finished looking around the front room and turned back to look at him again. Clyde swallowed and stood back up. “I’m getting the feeling you’d prefer if I took the lead, wouldn’t you?” Armitage asked as he dipped down to untie his shoes.

Clyde just nodded, looking down at Armitage under a rolling cloud of nervousness and desire. He couldn’t get the words out, it felt like they were stuck somewhere under his heart, trampled under its racing rabbit-feet.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Armitage said softly, standing and sliding up next to Clyde, stroking his arm gently. “We can take this as slow as you need. Is this… is this your first time? I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Clyde shook his head no, still trying to find his words.

“Alright, that’s fine, too” Armitage said, slipping even closer, snaking his arm under Clyde’s and around his waist. Reflexively, Clyde put his arm around Armitage’s shoulders. 

“I know I said I’d lead,” Armitage continued with a little laugh, “but I think you’d better lead me to your bedroom. I wouldn’t want to accidentally choose your broom closet or the bathroom, just picking a door at random.”

“I can do that,” Clyde said, finally finding his words again, and steering Armitage a little sideways down the narrow hall towards his bedroom. They didn’t quite both fit side-by-side, but he didn’t want to let go of him, just in case he was dreaming it all up. It all felt just a little unreal. While the little chats at the bar and the research at the library might not count as proper dates, he thought the walk might. He wasn’t used to this kind of lead-up before taking someone home or going home with them. He gestured into his bedroom and flipped the light switch, grateful that, if it had to be on the left, at least it wasn’t one of those really stiff old kinds. “Well, here we are.”

Armitage said nothing, but shot him a smirk, slipped out from under his arm, and squeezed past him into the bedroom. He began unbuttoning his shirt, looking meaningfully at Clyde. Clyde gave a little start and hurried to catch up, slipping the buttons of his own shirt with practiced one-handed ease.

He paused.

“Is something wrong?” Armitage asked, noticing.

“I forgot to ask,” Clyde said, looking down at his prosthetic hand. He lifted it and flexed the fingers once. “Before we got started. If you minded this. Do you want me to leave it on, or take it off? I could imagine it might feel a little strange, not bein’ a real hand.”

“I don’t mind either way,” Armitage replied, moving on to his pants. “Whatever makes you most comfortable. I want to make this good for you. Tell me what you like, tell me if I start doing anything you don’t. Promise?”

“Alright. Promise,” Clyde nodded in return, and got back to unbuttoning his shirt.

\-----

Armitage felt his brain short-circuit as Clyde shrugged out of his shirt and moved to unbutton his jeans. He may or may not have made an undignified noise, he wasn’t sure. It had apparently been entirely too long since he had seen another man’s bare chest and he’d forgotten how to react. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, he wasn’t sure what the proper reaction ought to be. The only thing he was sure of right now was that Clyde was very hot, and his brain was probably oozing out of his ears at this very moment. It was like someone had read his mind, figured out his type—men big enough to snap him in half, built, but without those weird, overdefined, dehydrated-looking abs—and deliberately put him on the path to meet Clyde in the bar and start flirting with him.

“You ok?” Clyde asked, looking concerned.

“Oh, I am absolutely very ok,” Armitage managed to stutter out, giving Clyde a very obvious once-over and grabbing his cock through his boxers, already hard. “You just, wow. Very nice. Christ, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you, and you look pretty good yourself,” Clyde replied, staring at a spot on the floor roughly halfway between them, eyes occasionally darting back up to look at Armitage and then immediately back down to the floor.

A couple breaths of awkward frozen silence, permeated by an almost tangible cloud of Want™, then, as if they were running on the same frequency, they both blinked and continued undressing as if nothing had happened. Armitage shoved his boxers down, stepped out of them, and shifted his weight slowly from foot to foot as he waited and watched. Clyde sat down on the edge of his bed for a brief moment to pull off his socks, and then he was on his feet again, moving to his dresser and opening the top drawer. Armitage tried not to feel just a little upset that Clyde wasn’t hard yet, hadn’t had that immediate surge of lust like he had. It probably wasn’t personal. Probably just nerves. If Clyde had said he thought he was attractive, then he meant it.

And, well, Armitage was pretty sure that Clyde’s eyes had lingered on his cock just a little longer than was strictly polite as he passed by him. Maybe he was just one of those guys who needed a bit of physical attention first.

“Before we go any further,” Clyde said, turning to Armitage, condom and lube and what looked like a washcloth in hand, dresser drawer hanging open, “I never asked what your preference is. I wouldn’t want to assume.”

“I could go either way,” Armitage replied casually, not entirely lying. He was getting the feeling that Clyde very much did have a preference but didn’t want to jinx himself by saying so first. He was curious to know what Clyde wanted before making a choice himself. “What about you?”

“I know I might not look the part,” Clyde said, eyes meeting Armitage’s and, again, holding contact for a bit longer than comfortable, “but I want you to fuck me.”

Armitage’s brain shorted out yet again. “Yes, of course, oh, I can do that. I… yes, _absolutely_.” 

As much as he might have been fantasizing about having Clyde on top of him, as much as he wanted him to open him wide and crush him into the mattress, the idea of topping _him_ was… enticing. Intoxicating, even. Exactly the kind of power trip he hadn’t admitted to wanting. Armitage’s ex had been strictly a top, and the idea of having a man who looked almost like he could be his mirror-universe doppelganger but with more body hair, under him, eager for his cock? It was almost too much for him to handle. He forcibly collected the fragments of his brain, put them back together as best he could, and reached a hand up to cup Clyde’s jaw. He traced his thumb over Clyde’s lips, watching his eyes flutter closed and feeling his breath shudder over his hand. 

“Oh, beautiful,” Armitage murmured, his brain knitting itself back into functionality. He leaned in to kiss Clyde, brief, tender, and promising more. As he pulled back, he added “I want to watch you prep yourself.”

Clyde just nodded, shut his dresser drawer, and handed the condom to Armitage. Armitage watched him walk back over to his bed, find the right spot he could stretch out comfortably from, pop the cap of the lube, and transfer the bottle to his prosthetic hand. It was clear he’d had some practice with this, squeezing some into his right hand and rubbing his fingers together to slick them up. He set the bottle aside, lay back, lifted his right leg, rolled a little to the side, and reached down to press his first finger slowly into himself. His left arm lay across his chest; Armitage whined as he watched both Clyde’s cock and the fingers of his prosthetic twitch as he worked himself open.

It was… a lot. Armitage reached down to squeeze the base of his cock, hoping and praying he wouldn’t go off right there just _watching_. It had been a while since the last time he’d had sex with his ex—or anyone, for that matter—and even then, they hadn’t been on the best of terms for a while. It had been rough. Angry. Almost brutal. No foreplay, not much prep. Feral. Not like this. He watched Clyde’s chest rise and fall, listened to him breathe, listened to his soft little groans as he pushed his fingers in and fucked himself open, readying himself for Armitage’s cock. He was beautiful, there was no other word for it. Armitage felt a twinge of guilt—Clyde deserved better than someone like him, but as long as he was here, as long as Clyde would have him, he’d do his best for him.

Apparently satisfied with his prep, Clyde sat back up again, grabbed the washcloth to wipe off his fingers, and unbuckled his prosthetic. Armitage chewed on his lip, watching him as he stretched slightly to set it on his bedside table and scoop up the lube again. Clyde held out the lube and gave him a look, and he snapped back to the here and now. He tore open the condom, rolled it on, and climbed onto the bed to meet Clyde. He leaned in for another kiss as he plucked the bottle from his fingers.

“Ready?” Armitage said, voice approaching a purr, sounding far more put together than he still felt.

Clyde nodded. He lay back down and raised his knees, ready and waiting for Armitage to meet him. He followed as if bound to him. As Clyde’s shoulders hit the mattress, Armitage knelt between his legs and placed his hands on his chest. Armitage lowered himself down to kiss Clyde again and assure himself that this was really happening. He trailed one hand up to run his fingers through Clyde’s hair before bracing himself better, hands on the mattress bracketing his impossibly broad shoulders. He lined himself up. Under him, Clyde shifted, grabbed his right knee, and wrapped his left leg around Armitage’s thighs, pulling him closer, urging him in.

“I suppose it would be quite rude of me to make you wait any longer,” Armitage murmured, before planting a kiss on Clyde’s jaw, just below his ear. 

With that pronouncement, Armitage pushed in slowly, moaning at the tight heat and savoring the sensation. He let Clyde adjust to him—let _himself_ adjust to being inside him—before rolling his hips experimentally. Watching Clyde’s face, listening to his breathing and the stifled little noises he was making, feeling him clench around his cock, he tried to read him and find a good rhythm. Recalling what he had and hadn’t enjoyed when he had been with his ex.

“It’s… been a while… since I’ve done this,” Armitage panted as he thrust, fast but not punishing. Trying to keep himself on edge, trying to last, but still satisfy Clyde. “Is it… good for you?”

Clyde nodded vigorously his breaths coming fast and heavy. “Keep goin’, _please_ ,” he groaned.

That needy, breathy ‘ _please_ ’ went right to his cock. Armitage didn’t last much longer, crying out as he came. His hips slowed, then stilled, but he didn’t pull out yet. Panting, arms shaky, he lifted one hand and groped for Clyde’s cock. As he did, he felt Clyde’s hand cover his, fingers twining together with his. They moved together. Clyde came with a gasp barely louder than a whisper. Such a small sound for such a big man, but Armitage felt like it filled him almost to bursting because _he_ had been the one to draw it out of him.

“Mm, you just stay right there, I’ll be back in a flash. Going to get you cleaned right up,” Armitage said, pulling out gently and climbing off the bed. He found the washcloth again, and smiled at Clyde as he left to look for the bathroom to clean himself up and wet the washcloth down.

\-----

Clyde closed his eyes, stretched out, and let himself float. He didn’t much care for the emptiness immediately after the other guy pulled out, but the orgasm and the floaty feeling after more than made up for it. Armitage had been good. He might’ve said it had been a while for him, but it didn’t show. He clearly knew what he was doing. Clyde felt like he could just lay here all afternoon. Longer, if Armitage wanted to spoon.

Armitage’s voice brought him back, eyes blinking open.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up,” Armitage said as he climbed back onto the bed. He patted Clyde’s thigh, and Clyde lifted his leg again. The washcloth was warm and not too wet, so it wouldn’t drip all over his bed. Armitage’s fingers were dexterous and gentle as they ran the washcloth between his buttocks before coming up to clean his cock and stomach and fingers.

Clyde felt himself melt just a little more as Armitage leaned in to kiss him on the forehead before taking the washcloth over to his laundry hamper. How’d he get so lucky? A complete accident, a stranger at the bar he happened to click with. What were the odds? Another thought occurred to him: what were the odds that Armitage could actually _stay_ for very long? Not good. He certainly had a job of his own to get back to back in New York City, and one that was fancy enough to give him enough vacation to do this and dress like he did.

“You work tonight, I’m assuming? How long do you have before you have to get ready?” Armitage asked as he moved around Clyde’s bedroom, picking up their clothes, giving Clyde’s a quick fold, and setting them on the edge of the bed so he could begin dressing himself again.

“You’re not leavin’ already?” Clyde asked, sitting up and reaching to grab his prosthetic again.

“I was going to step outside, have the traditional after-sex cigarette; didn’t think you’d want me smoking in here with the windows closed and everything,” Armitage replied, sitting down next to him on the bed and laying his hand on his thigh. “Did you have any plans for what you’d like to do next?”

“Well, once you’re done, we could sit on the couch together, watch bad daytime TV,” Clyde suggested, looking down at his hand as he adjusted it and buckled it back on. The corners of his mouth quirked up into a slight smile at Armitage’s audible grimace at the mention of ‘bad daytime TV.’ “Or, if you wanted to do something a bit more productive, we could head back over to the library.”

“Let’s do that” Armitage said, rubbing his fingers in little circles over Clyde’s skin.

Clyde tried not to think too hard about what that little touch was doing to him. Again. He wanted more, and he wasn’t sure how much ‘more’ there would be for him to have. Armitage hadn’t said anything about when he’d be leaving, but it would have to happen eventually.

“And, uh, how about tomorrow?” Clyde asked, gently broaching the idea of what might be to come. “You want to do breakfast somewhere, talk about what you’re—or, we’re—going to do next? If it pans out, we might know who your mom is before I start my shift tonight. If we don’t, then we could do breakfast and then the library.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Armitage said, giving Clyde’s thigh a last little squeeze before turning to climb back off the bed.

Clyde felt the mattress shift as Armitage stood up. He didn’t get up yet himself, wasn’t quite ready, but he did lean forward to grab the stack of his clothes that Armitage had sorted and folded for him. He slowly unfolded his shirt, gave it a sharp shake to get any wrinkles out, and slipped it back on. He watched Armitage out of the corner of his eye as he focused on doing back up the buttons. He wanted to keep this feeling, the little domestic bit. He imagined himself getting out of bed in the morning with Armitage, getting dressed, doing breakfast together—going out on the weekends, having someone else cook for them—and just… living. Like any other couple in town. He knew they couldn’t have that if Armitage had to go back, but he could fantasize, right?

“…will nine be a good time for you tomorrow?” Armitage was saying, not realizing that Clyde had lost his focus inward. “I know you work late, but I also don’t know what Saturday breakfast hours might be like around here.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll be fine,” Clyde replied, sitting up straighter and turning towards Armitage. “Lucy’s does breakfast all day, and she makes the best filled Dutch baby pancake in town. Big enough to feed two. I’ll come pick you up at nine tomorrow morning?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Armitage smiled.

Clyde smiled back up at him.


	5. Saturday

He didn’t _mean_ to rubberneck, but as long as there wasn’t a whole lot of traffic, he could afford to slow down a bit, try to see what was going on at the motel with all them police cars. Right about now, Clyde really wished he’d given Armitage _his_ phone number, too. That way he coulda called to let him know what was happening before he got here. Well, the motel parking lot was blocked off, so he’d have to find somewhere else to stop. There was a gas station just up the road. He could pull in there. Wouldn’t be too far for Armitage to walk to, if whatever was going on at the motel didn’t keep him shut up in his room.

The gas station was a bit busier than would be expected for a Saturday morning, but, it did have a not too awful line of sight to whatever was going down at the motel. Which was probably why it was so busy. Clyde pulled into a parking space and got out of his car. He shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling his phone out, preparing to find Armitage’s number.

“Oh, hey! Clyde!”

Clyde turned to see Shirley, one of his regulars from the Duck Tape, approaching from the gas station convenience store and waving at him like she had something important to say and she wanted to make sure he stayed put.

“Oh, hi Shirl,” Clyde replied, putting his phone back away.

“Did he call you? What’s going on down there?” Shirley asked, stopping next to Clyde and tilting her head as she looked down the road towards the motel.

“Did who call me?” Clyde asked, looking over at Shirley.

“Did _who_ call you,” Shirley said with a scoff-laugh. “ _You_ know, that ginger you’ve been seein’ these past couple days, what’s-his-name. The one from the bar. I just happened to be drivin’ past at the right time, saw the police takin’ him out of his room. I don’t know what they think he did for that many officers to show up, but it has to have been a mistake, right? Did he tell you what’s goin’ on? Do you need a lawyer? Does he have one? He looks like he probably knows a lawyer.”

“Can you slow down, Shirl?” Clyde said, holding his right hand up to stall her and pressing the knuckles of his prosthetic to his forehead to steady himself. “Did you say the police are there for _Armitage_?”

“Ooh, with a name like that, I bet he knows a _bunch_ ’a lawyers,” Shirley said, shaking her head like she still didn’t quite believe what was happening. “Yeah, I’d recognize him anywhere now, hair like that, clothes like that, skinny as a rail.”

“No, he didn’t call,” Clyde said, attempting to process what he was seeing and hearing. “I was going to take him out for breakfast. We were goin’ to Lucy’s…”

“He didn’t say _anythin’_? What brought him down here in the first place?” Shirley said, gently prying.

Clyde didn’t really fault her for it. There were a lot of things _he_ really wanted to know right now.

“He was adopted when he was a baby, he’s pretty sure his birth mother’s from around here,” Clyde answered.

“Hm,” Shirley replied, putting her hands on her hips, thinking. “So, you’ve got no idea why the police came after him?”

“No,” Clyde said, shaking his head slowly. “Should I call him?”

“Hm,” Shirley said again. “Better not. You don’t want to give the police any reason to talk to you. It wouldn’t look good, not with your record.”

Clyde just stared down the road, wondering what in the hell Armitage could’ve done that would have gotten the police after him. Something he did here? Something he did back up in New York? How could he have had time to do anything here? Was he a _fugitive_? If he was on the run, why would he have stopped down here for this long? Why would he have gotten into whatever this thing was that they’d had? Was his research all a lie? It hadn’t _felt_ like a lie, he’d told it all so well. He’d had details. Course, none of that mattered if he was being arrested. Clyde didn’t want to be a witness, didn’t want to have to talk to the police. Didn’t want to explain how he’d known Armitage, how he had known _him_ in the Biblical sense. They might think he was involved too, when all he’d done was fall for the wrong guy. Logan Curse, all over again.

“Well, I am sorry it’s happenin’,” Shirley said, reaching over to touch Clyde’s arm in commiseration, “but at least you two hadn’t gotten too far, if it all turns out badly.”

Clyde nodded in reply, processing.

“I wonder…” Shirley said slowly, breaking the silence. “You said he was adopted from around here? He about your age? I wonder if he was Mary Halloway’s—well, she woulda been Miller at the time. She was a ginger, back then, even if she looks blonde now. Coupla years older than me, in my sister’s year at school. She went off to college, it was a big deal, she won herself a scholarship. But then she came home after a year, sayin’ college wasn’t for her, and some people thought she looked a little different. You know. Or, well, maybe _you_ don’t. But some people thought she mighta had a baby while she was gone. Nobody talked about it, but we all knew, or thought we might know. Huh. I hadn’t thought about that in _ages_.”

“Now what?” Clyde asked, still attempting to process what Shirley had told him.

“Hm. I can ask around at church tomorrow. Might be a bit soon, but you know how fast news travels ‘round here,” Shirley mused. “I’ve got my hair appointment on Monday afternoon—does Mellie know about you an’ him? Yeah? Alright. If I find anything out before then, I’ll tell her to tell you. If not, I’ll catch you back at the bar on Wednesday, same time as usual.”

“Thanks, Shirl,” Clyde said, turning to head back to his car. This had been quite a week.


	6. Sunday

The Sunday Logan Family Get-Together Lunch was always a variable affair. Depending entirely on who was hosting, which cousins were in town, who was busy with what, what family gossip might get passed around, who might be arguing with who, and who _wanted_ to show up (or not). This week’s lunch was no exception. News had gotten around, and some cousins Clyde hadn’t seen in ages had shown up, trying to casually extract whatever information they could out of him about his mysterious gentleman friend who’d been picked up by the police the day before. Mellie’s kitchen wasn’t large, and Clyde found himself elbow to elbow with curious kin for the whole meal. He had excused himself from the table as soon as was polite and escaped to his car. Not leaving, just finding somewhere quiet to sit and decompress.

Clyde startled at a knock on his passenger side window, turning to see who had followed him out.

“You wanna talk?” Mellie asked, hand resting on the door, but not moving to open it unless invited in.

Clyde didn’t speak, but leaned over and popped the door for her, crossing his arms again as she took the door from him.

“Thanks,” Mellie said, climbing in and leaning back into the seat. “I’m sorry it got how it did. I’m making them wash dishes now, I told them if they bother you about it again, I’d find something worse for them to do. How are you holding up?”

“Not great,” Clyde admitted, staring down at his crossed arms.

“I know it’s Sunday, but have you heard anything new?” Mellie asked.

“Nope,” Clyde said shaking his head.

“That might not be such a bad thing, if you think about it—let me finish,” Mellie said, preemptively cutting her brother off. “Now I _am_ sorry this had to happen to you, I know how hard it’s been for you, trying to find someone. But if he hasn’t called you—I know, but if you called him, he’s _got_ your number in his recent calls—maybe he doesn’t want to get you mixed up in whatever’s happening. And if the police haven’t come looking to talk to you, then maybe they decided you don’t have enough of a connection to him and whatever he may or may not have done, either. If he hasn’t done anything and it’s all some sort of mistake, he’s still got to go back to where he’s from. But, if he _has_ done something, it’s best to find out now before you two got too far along.”

“I mean, even if I didn’t want to think about it, I did know we weren’t gonna last,” Clyde admitted. “He’d never fit in down here, and I know I’d never fit in in _New York_ , of all places, but I wasn’t expectin’ it to end like this.”

Mellie nodded, commiserating.

Clyde wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence, but he was thankful for Mellie understanding him. Knowing he didn’t want to be alone, not really, but also that he didn’t want to have to talk about it anymore than was absolutely necessary.

“Tell you what,” Mellie said, turning to look at Clyde. “You know how much my ladies at the salon like to gossip. I won’t bring you into it, but I bet they will be dying to talk about the arrest. If anyone knows anything, they will. When I get off work tomorrow, I’ll stop by your place and catch you up, alright?”

Clyde nodded his agreement.

“Take care, and remember, we love you. I know next week’s lunch is supposed to be yours, but if you don’t feel up to it, Aunt Maggie still owes me a favor. I can get you out of the rotation until it comes back around again,” Mellie said as she opened the car door, preparing to head back into the house. “And don’t drive off before I can get you some leftovers. I didn’t want to bring them out just yet, wasn’t sure how long we’d be.”

Clyde nodded again, a small smile crossing his face.


	7. Monday

Clyde checked his phone again. He knew there wouldn’t be anything there, but he checked it anyway. No texts, no missed calls. Still only the one robocaller earlier in the day, trying to sell him a timeshare, who he’d picked up for before checking the number because he’d been startled. He’d gone for his usual morning run and just kept going to kill time and try to burn off some of his anxiousness, then spent the entire shower worried that he’d get a call while he couldn’t hear his phone. He’d gone through the motions of any other Monday, despite it all, just letting the minutes, the hours, tick slowly by until it was time for Mellie to clock out, then arrive bearing whatever news she could. Well, he supposed it would only be nice to have dinner ready when she arrived. One, then she wouldn’t have to cook, and two, it would give him something to occupy his mind with.

The knock on the door came right as the microwave beeped, letting Clyde know the green beans were done. “It’s open,” Clyde yelled, grabbing the bag, dropping it on the counter, and heading to the door to meet her.

“Hey, Clyde,” Mellie said, stepping inside, tossing her purse on the couch, and hanging up her jacket on the coatrack. “How you holding up?”

“Oh, you know,” Clyde replied.

“That bad?”

“Just tryin’ to keep busy. I’m makin’ dinner. Almost done.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to,” Mellie said, following Clyde as he headed back into the kitchen. “But, since you did, do you want to wait until after we’ve eaten for me to tell you what I learned? Because I think you should be sitting down for it.”

Clyde paused, midway through draining the green beans. One bean slipped out of the bag, landing in the sink unnoticed. “How bad?”

“ _Bad_ ,” Mellie said, sounding awfully serious.

Clyde inhaled, shook the green beans out of the bag onto both plates, and exhaled heavily. “Might as well get it over with. Food’s ready.”

Mellie came over to collect her plate, placing a comforting hand on Clyde’s shoulder, squeezing a little and letting him know she was there for him, no matter what. Clyde took his plate to the table, went back to grab his drink, and sat down.

“If Linda and her gossip network are right—and unfortunately, they always are—he’s committed murder,” Mellie said, putting it right out there.

Clyde stared disbelievingly. _Murder_? There were some crimes he could overlook—he’d be a hypocrite, if he didn’t—but a _murderer_? A charming and well-spoken one, but _still_.

“Linda said Wyvetta told her, and she’s got a cousin who does _something_ down at the police station, and it’s all the talk down there, catching a fugitive on the run from New York,” Mellie continued. “The FBI’s involved. They’re saying Armitage shot his partner about a week ago and bolted. He’s not denying he shot the man, but he’s claiming self-defense. No one’s buying it. I don’t know what the evidence is, but the way they’re talking, it’s not good. Especially since he ran, even if he’s claiming that’s not what he was _trying_ to do.”

“When you say ‘partner,’ I’m guessin’ you don’t mean business partner,” Clyde said resignedly.

“Nope,” Mellie said, shaking her head.

“He didn’t have a ring. Didn’t have a tan line where one woulda been, neither. He never mentioned anyone, didn’t act like there was another man. At the bar, or at the library, or when he came over,” Clyde mused, staring at his dinner like somehow it would have all the answers he hadn’t asked the right questions to.

“Apparently there were a lot of things he wasn’t telling you,” Mellie said, looking down and poking at her own food. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Yeah,” Clyde agreed, spearing a few green beans, one by one, and eating mechanically. He wasn’t particularly hungry anymore, but he knew he ought to get some food into himself anyway.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence. _Logan Family Curse, all over again_ , Clyde thought, barely tasting his food. He’d already accepted that it couldn’t be a real relationship, couldn’t last, but the curse couldn’t be happy with just that. If they’d parted ways and Armitage had kept on going wherever he was going, he’d probably never have found out he was a murderer. He’d’ve been just another one night stand, although a unique one, someone who’d wanted—or _seemed_ like he’d wanted—to listen to him talk about himself and his research interests. The Curse must be fed.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Mellie said slowly, “maybe think about it like this: If he hadn’t stopped at the bar, and you two hadn’t fallen for each other, who knows where he’d’ve gotten to? And now he’s not gonna have the chance to hurt anyone else. I know, cold comfort, but it’s _something_ , right?”

Clyde just nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU Armitage. He’s not a space fascist, but he’s not a nice person, either. Even if he _can_ fake it convincingly enough, especially when he has reason to try to make a good impression. He’s had a rough life, but that doesn’t absolve him of the choices he’s made. Also, on a happier note, I’m headcanoning Clyde as autistic because it feels right and it makes me happy. Do I think he's had any kind of diagnosis, formal or informal? Formal, definitely not. Informal? Maybe someone else puts all the little things together and is like "Hmm. I wonder...?" But the most likely answer is people are like "Oh yeah, that's just Clyde for you. He's always been like that."
> 
> Spoilers ahoy! 
> 
> This was kinda hard to tag for the ending because, well. It’s certainly not _happy_ , in that Clyde thought they clicked despite knowing that it couldn’t last, Armitage actually thought he enjoyed their time together, but also, he _has_ committed murder. At least twice. And Clyde does not need that in his life. So, it’s bittersweet and ambiguous, in that he enjoyed his time with Armitage, but lucky that he didn’t get _too_ attached. Yeah, it hurts now, but it’ll heal easier than if they’d spent a longer time together. Also, the whole “Armitage murdered his ex” thing. (Also his father, but there had been enough reasonable doubt, so he had gotten away with _that_ murder.)


End file.
